


Letters to the King

by Miss_Bubblegum



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Fever Dreams, Gen, Hallucinations, Head Injury, Sick Character, british person written by an american, subjective reality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10018082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Bubblegum/pseuds/Miss_Bubblegum
Summary: 'You have written me letters since I have been able to read, once a month at least....'Princess Amelia wants to find a way to write back to her Father





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY SCHNUGGLEBUG!!!!
> 
> This is the first chapter of a story i said I would write long ago, i am so sorry it took so long.

Hello, my name is Amelia

 

I thought that might be a good place to start. I write that on the first page of all the notebooks I have ever had, the first page of a book where it’s blank in anticipation for the typed words just a page turn away, even in the blank void that starts computer documents when you first open them. 

Maybe it’s because of how badly I want to leave my mark on the world, the craving to be noticed, that I write my name everywhere. Maybe it’s because of how lonely I am that I write the first line of a conversation whenever I get new things. 

Or maybe it’s a sign of how polite I am that I start even imaginary conversations by introducing myself politely. 

But since the pleasantries are out of the way now, I want to tell you a story. One of my nannies (they’re called something else officially but I can’t remember what right now) told me that when I was very young I had aspirations for Disney-princess-hood. That means of course that I wanted to be a princess in the Disney style- having friends and freedom and singing and people who wanted to take care of me because they loved me, not because they were being paid to make sure I didn’t die. 

Nonetheless I had longed for interpersonal relationships so much as a child that I had vivid fever dreams that were about me meeting people and gaining friends while I had the flu at age 6. 

The dream was such- I was walking through unfamiliar halls that did look like the halls of the castle where I lived, but they were in different configurations so was lost and wandering aimlessly. I had heard a weird sound, a muffled thump every couple of seconds or so and went in that direction very curious to see what was going on. What I found were two girls playing football-kicking the ball at the wall and having it ricochet back at them at high speeds, and they dodged it clearly having fun. They were knocking the wall decorations askew and breaking some (I can’t remember if they were paintings or what but I do remember thinking that they could break), chasing after the ball whenever it went astray, and their trainers slapping the floors almost echoed in the empty halls. 

 

When they saw me they froze-and the ball rolled to a stop at my feet. I decided to tie the blanket I was holding around my neck like a cape and picked up the ball, carrying it back to them.

“Can I play too?” I asked them, and they looked at each other, they were very tall to my young self, very old looking to me. I think they were supposed to be older kids though-teenagers or adults were probably a stretch for me to make up at that young. Older kids would have been enough, after all have you ever seen a 12 year old in comparison to a six year old? Lightyears different in terms of everything. 

The one closer to me took the ball.   
“If you think you are up to it?” she said and looked at the taller one a meter or so away. 

“Can you run and dodge?” the taller one asked me, coming to stand in front of me, looking me over. 

“Yes I can! I love playing and running!” I said very happy to them, but they sighed.

“I don’t want you to get hurt Amelia.” Said the shorter girl still holding the ball, “We can help you practice dodging if you want but we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Ok!” I said happy to have someone teach me something. This was such a new experience, and I was happy I didn’t have to introduce myself, which was dumb as it was a dream, of course they knew my name.

“Sophie do we really want to risk hurting her?” asked the taller one crossing her arms

“Riri you worry too much. She’ll be fine. Little kids bounce.” Said the shorter one, Sophie, dropping the ball, “You know how to kick a football little Amelia?”

“Do you mind if we call you Emily?” the taller Riri asked me, bending down a bit to get on my level

“No. Emily sounds good.” At that point I was just extremely excited to play with them, but to this day I can remember what I dreamt up their faces to be. I do remember that their hair was lighter than mine, one almost orange and the other looking almost pink when the light hit it the right way.

So I played with the two girls, excited at playing at long last. I felt cold, not hard to figure out why as I said earlier that this was a fever dream and had a terrible fever at the time. I thought it was amazing, the freedom, the laughter I felt, and how they would pick me up and out of the way of a bouncing ball. It’s weird in hindsight how I imagined even in my hallucinations that people treated me as if I was made of glass. Maybe I was just so used to it that it just made sense for everyone to treat me this way. 

The end of it came too soon for my liking, I almost felt like it cheated me by being so short. Why couldn’t even my subconscious let me be happy for more than an hour or two? It ended with the ball very quickly coming to my face, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in bed with the doctor at my bedside declaring that I had gotten through the worst of it. 

That clearly wasn’t the only hallucinations I had during that time, I had ones before that of the queen coming in and holding my hand, talking to me about how much she wanted me to get better. She acted as if she was ever a real mother to me instead of letting me be raised by nannies while she saw me rarely outside of events our whole family had to be at, me sitting the farthest away as the youngest. 

I also dreamed you were there, acting like a real father to me. You came in and told me some stories, and said my name as if you really loved me. You held my hand and kissed my forehead and told me I would be ok. Then you started reading some dull thing about adult things out loud and it put me into a deeper sleep, snapping out of the dream I think. 

King George, I don’t know why I keep trying to write these letters to you. Maybe because I think you may want to read them one day? Maybe because I am lonely and hung my hat on the idea that you do care about me in some way?

You have written me letters since I have been able to read, once a month at least, making me feel as if I wasn’t alone and that you did want to know me maybe. I realize that my thoughts and hopes are likely wrong, I am the 15th child you have, and I will forever be in the shadow of what Octavius and Alfred could have grown up to be had they not died so young. I am the youngest living child by five years, a gulf deemed insurmountable apparently by my closest in age sisters. Sophia and Mary don’t make even the slightest effort toward me and I am so tired of being alone.

Look at me whining as if I have not everything that someone could dream of. I am going to uni for my passions- writing and science, I have all the fame someone who has done nothing extraordinary could want, all the clothes by designers and brand name shoes, everything truly material that any mortal could desire.

 

I hate this so much. I don’t have anyone who likes me in person. I sometimes doubt that even my friends I have met and befriended online like me. I hope I’m wrong. I really do. 

 

This is so depressing, why did I even write this down? Probably because I am a coward who has never sent one of these fucking letters that I write to you King George. 

 

If this does get to you somehow feel free to never mention this to me. Better yet burn this. Burn it to ash and smoke and forget everything you’ve read. It is just my useless thoughts, nothing worthy of a king’s attention. If you do read this please don’t hate me. I do not truly know how to act with people you see, as I had only doctors and nannies and tutors to compare to in my formative years. Unless you count events as being formative, in which I can also count high nobility and the media to teaching me how to interact with the world. 

How are families supposed to act anyway? I don’t think that ours is a good example. Mary, the one always sitting next to me at events always looks like she is disgusted by my presence. I don’t feel like that is what sisters are supposed to do.

What do I know though?

Your daughter,  
Amelia

**Author's Note:**

> What the fuck am i doing with this depressing shit.


End file.
